Equal time for Sorcery

I am sure we are all so amused and entertained by Sargon the Magnificent's rehash of leftovers of The Tarot. Like yesterdays dinner, it is the stuff for working families that are saving to buy a car. Wonderful. What about us tyrants? Where is the good stuff for us telemarketers, Sargon?

Not everybody chooses wisdom, Sargon. Some choose beauty. Just look at Paris, the prince of Troy (*). Lucky Paris. He gets to jump the bones of the most beautiful woman in the world while his homeland burns. Letting all those Greek illegal immigrants into the country was a bad idea then, and it is a bad idea now. So I can do without the slap and tickle.

As far as wisdom goes, Sargon, who cares? Acheiving immortality is not such a comforting option with Canada's health care system in the shape it is now. Waiting for another new hip does not appeal to me. Sure, the replaceable face technology is being developed (*), but I want something else other than the fawning affection of poets and thoughtful Hallmark cards on my endless birthdays.

I want power, Sargon. I want the heads of my enemies thrown at my feet. I want victory in war, the adulation of the crowd, and the fear of the Senate. Where is the ability to have those that displease me burst into flame? When shall you tell us how to have traffic lights turn green in an endless rolling carpet of the perfect driving experience? How do I always get a parking spot right in front of where I wish to go? I want an honest car mechanic ... I grow weary of sewing their lips shut.

I know a little about what you speak. I have read your books, remember. You offer up baby food for the soul. And what does it give but baby poop? Yes, this is fine for your Rasputin-like character, but I want more. Your readers want more. So, give it to us. Not everyone wishes to have polite conversation over tea and cucumber sandwiches. Some of us want to feed people to the ants.

Motivation by Fear. Oh, my, what a lovely young lady. Does she look familiar, Sargon? Hmmm? She looks so happy. She is surrounded by people who care about her. She has a bright future, filled with happiness and good fortune. Hmmm? I am sure that the health of this innocent comes first in your mind, as it does, at times, in mine. Let your fears for her future guide you in your decision. I am confident that you will make the right decision.

Motivation by Reward. There is a place for you, Sargon, at the Round Table. There will be plenty of empty chairs, I assure you. One will be yours. And a budget worthy of a Liberal cabinet minister, for you to spend on whatever soothes your conscious. Let it be arts spending, or public works, or even Landfills and Forestry.

Motivation by Reason. I know quite well the path I have choosen. There will be the rise, and the fall. I will not be in your hair for ever. You will outlive me. You can spit on my grave, when the time comes. You can wander among the ruins of my empire, a city here, a fortress there, a few cratered factories, some mutants living in valley of the Don river. You can feel smug and superior, later, just tell me what I want, now.

Do look at the photograph, Sargon. Much as the rack loostens the tongue, so too does the pulling on your heart strings cause you to tell what there is to know. I know you know. You know I know you know. And the last time I tried to do this, I got a plague of warts. Turning me into a crocodile, well, that was pretty funny, in hindsight. I can laugh at a joke, even when it is played on me. Ha ha ha. I want to climb the heights. Pluto is about to transit into Capricorn, Sargon. Someone is going to get their greasy paws on the iron crown. Those greasy paws should be mine. That someone should be ... me. You know I care.

Look at the picture. Get typing. Hurry.

I, Fenris Badwulf, who speaks for Tyrant-Canadians, wrote this exclusively at Mitchieville.